Frank laughed.
“If that is the case,” he said, “I think I will patronize her.”
“Leave it to me,” said Dick, winking.
He advanced gravely to the apple-stand, and said, “Old lady, have you paid your taxes?”
The astonished woman opened her eyes.
“I’m a gov’ment officer,” said Dick, “sent by the mayor to collect your taxes. I’ll take it in apples just to oblige. That big red one will about pay what you’re owin’ to the gov’ment.”
“I don’t know nothing about no taxes,” said the old woman, in bewilderment.
“Then,” said Dick, “I’ll let you off this time. Give us two of your best apples, and my friend here, the President of the Common Council, will pay you.”
Frank smiling, paid three cents apiece for the apples, and they sauntered on, Dick remarking, “If these apples ain’t good, old lady, we’ll return ’em, and get our money back.” This would have been rather difficult in his case, as the apple was already half consumed.
Chatham Street, where they wished to go, being on the East side, the two boys crossed the Park. This is an enclosure of about ten acres, which years ago was covered with a green sward, but is now a great thoroughfare for pedestrians and contains several important public buildings. Dick pointed out the City Hall, the Hall of Records, and the Rotunda. The former is a white building of large size, and surmounted by a cupola.
“That’s where the mayor’s office is,” said Dick. “Him and me are very good friends. I once blacked his boots by partic’lar appointment. That’s the way I pay my city taxes.”
CHAPTER V
CHATHAM STREET AND BROADWAY
They were soon in Chatham Street, walking between rows of ready-made clothing shops, many of which had half their stock in trade exposed on the sidewalk. The proprietors of these establishments stood at the doors, watching attentively the passersby, extending urgent invitations to any who even glanced at the goods to enter.
“Walk in, young gentlemen,” said a stout man, at the entrance of one shop.
“No, I thank you,” replied Dick, “as the fly said to the spider.”
“We’re selling off at less than cost.”
“Of course you be. That’s where you makes your money,” said Dick. “There ain’t nobody of any enterprise that pretends to make any profit on his goods.”
The Chatham Street trader looked after our hero as if he didn’t quite comprehend him; but Dick, without waiting for a reply, passed on with his companion.
In some of the shops auctions seemed to be going on.
“I am only offered two dollars, gentlemen, for this elegant pair of doeskin pants, made of the very best of cloth. It’s a frightful sacrifice. Who’ll give an eighth? Thank you, sir. Only seventeen shillings! Why the cloth cost more by the yard!”
This speaker was standing on a little platform haranguing to three men, holding in his hand meanwhile a pair of pants very loose in the legs, and presenting a cheap Bowery look.
Frank and Dick paused before the shop door, and finally saw them knocked down to rather a verdant-looking individual at three dollars.
“Clothes seem to be pretty cheap here,” said Frank.
“Yes, but Baxter Street is the cheapest place.”
“Is it?”
“Yes. Johnny Nolan got a whole rig-out there last week, for a dollar,–coat, cap, vest, pants, and shoes. They was very good measure, too, like my best clothes that I took off to oblige you.”
“I shall know where to come for clothes next time,” said Frank, laughing. “I had no idea the city was so much cheaper than the country. I suppose the Baxter Street tailors are fashionable?”
“In course they are. Me and Horace Greeley always go there for clothes. When Horace gets a new suit, I always have one made just like it; but I can’t go the white hat. It ain’t becomin’ to my style of beauty.”
A little farther on a man was standing out on the sidewalk, distributing small printed handbills. One was handed to Frank, which he read as follows,–
“GRAND CLOSING-OUT SALE!–A variety of Beautiful and Costly Articles for Sale, at a Dollar apiece. Unparalleled Inducements! Walk in, Gentlemen!”